He slid both hands up my sides, slow, mapping all the places that hurt. He found the bruise at the base of my spine and pressed around it, careful, no hint of roughness.
“Are you hurting here?”
“A little. It’s old. I slipped on the stupid porch steps last week.” I tried to laugh but it sounded pathetic.
He didn’t let it go. “You live alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone check on you?”
I didn’t answer because I sounded pathetic enough.
He hummed, and his hands kept moving, slipping my pants down so they pooled on the floor, down my thighs, to the scar on my right knee. He bent, suit creasing, and tipped my knee so he could see the long, pale line.
“ACL,” I told him, voice barely above a whisper. “College soccer.”
He examined the joint, gentle but thorough, and nodded like he’d expected it. “Does it bother you?”
“In the winter. Not much else.” I almost apologized but caught myself.
He stood, eyes level with mine. “I think you’ve been on your feet long enough today.” He extended his hand and I stepped out of my pants.
Chapter three
Felix
I turned the heat up in the room.
Clayton didn’t look up, not at first. His cheeks were already flushed, the line of his back tense and taut. Waiting for the next order.
God. The way he waited.
He had no idea how much I liked that. I was so damn sick of pretty boys who talked back, who wanted the game but not the reality, who wilted if I even raised my voice. Clayton was older, lived-in, half-broken and still standing. That did something to me. I didn’t want a show pony. I wanted someone who could take a real touch and not flinch.
I stroked a hand down his spine, mapping the old lines, the bruises, the places that hurt. He shivered again, but he didn’t move away. I didn’t give him praise yet, but I could see he craved it. Bad.
“Strip completely and get on the bed,” I said, and he went.
I saw the flush stain his cheeks as he dropped his boxers, and I stared at his half-hard cock. I had every intention of sorting thatout, but I wanted to take my time. He bent and quickly gathered his clothes and put them on a side table, then he approached the bed.
He sat first, eyes uncertain, so I pressed a hand to his shoulder and eased him down flat. The mattress was firm. I’d watched the tension in his thigh when it took his weight, but he didn’t complain. Good. He needed an owner, not a nurse.
I stood over him for a second and just…looked. Let him squirm a little under the attention. The scars, the marks, the way his breath stuttered when I palmed his wrist and pinned it to the bed for a test.
He didn’t resist. Not even a twitch.
“Keep your arms by your sides. Good. Just like that. If they move, I will restrain you.” I reached for the blindfold—a soft one, silk, not leather—and stroked it over his forehead. Waited for a reaction.
No flinch. He went soft under my hands, pliant, breathing slow and careful.
Now we were getting somewhere.
I ran my hands down his chest. He was shaking, barely, but his cock was thickening as I watched. I liked that. I liked that a lot.
“You’re going to lie here and just feel, Clayton. You don’t have to be silent.” I paused, made sure he heard every word. “If you want me to stop, you use your safe word. Otherwise, you take what I give you.”
I waited for the nod, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. He was so desperate for touch he could barely stay still. Perfect. I had to control my own breathing to stop getting excited.
